y fingers amidst the dead leaves
That are about to fall from the tree, when the wind of winter
is blowing?'"

"You are right," said the auctioneer, laughing (and the master of the
slave re-echoed his laugh and his answer); "let us see whether we
cannot light upon a younger bidder."

With that there drew near a man whose years were not few, but he had
dyed his beard and moved trippingly. He also offered a thousand
ducats; but at that moment Smaragdine began to recite as from the book
of some poet, but the verses were in truth her own:

"'Say to him that dyes his beard, that I love not the false.
Deception is in him that conceals the works of God and Time.
He that disguises his countenance, how shall one put faith in his
words?'"

A third now came forward, but unfortunately he was one-eyed. The slave
regarded him, and quoted, or seemed to quote, without hesitation,

"'Avoid the one-eyed lover, maiden;
How shall he be thy safe guardian, fair woman?
Will he love thee better than the apple of his eye?'"

"Look round you," said the crier; "is there none here that pleases you
better?" And with this he pointed to a short stout man whose beard was
of unusual dimensions.

"Fie!" said the slave, "this is he whom the poet had in his eye when
he sang,

"'Providence has given my adorer too great an allowance of beard.
This bush resembles the night of winter--long, black, and cold.'"

"Choose for yourself, girl," said the auctioneer, laughing more
heartily than before; "I pray you look round upon all the circle of
the bystanders."

The slave cast her eyes slowly around the company, and at last rested
them upon Alischar, whose appearance had charmed her from the first
moment.

"Mr. Crier," said she, "I will belong to no one but this handsome
young man. It is of him that the poet was thinking when he wrote those
verses:

"'Sorrow and pain fly from the loveliness of his countenance,
And pierce the hearts of the maidens every one.
Why are they not veiled deeply over the eyes?
Why court they destruction in gazing upon his beauty?

The breath of his lip is like the odour of myrrh and camphor.
Men slander him; but the moon rises in heaven, and who will then
believe that there is darkness?'"

When she ceased from her recitation, her master drew near to Alischar,
and said, "Friend, you see what a wonder of beauty, education, and
eloquence t